No One On This Show Can Die
by MegKevin
Summary: Crack-fic, but I feel like it could actually happen. The Pack runs into enemies who just don't understand that death means nothing to these people. They try to explain but it doesn't work. AKA Teen Wolf characters are snarky badasses and their enemies are bad listeners.
1. Derek Can't Die

No One On This Show Can Die

AN: This is just a one-shot about how Derek literally CAN'T die. He should've, like eight times so far in the show, and he just doesn't. Obviously the writers know that Derek is the reason behind half of their viewership but it's still kind of hilarious how they decide to fatally injure him but make it not fatal.

This was requested my Highness, JJ, and is dedicated with utmost love, affection, and fangirling, to her.

Derek Can't Die

Stiles had learned the hard way over the course of their very rocky relationship that assuming anything about Derek's physical status without actually checking it with your own eyes was destined to end badly.

Okay, so if he was saying this to you it would sound more like, "Derek can't die, man. It's scary. Like, more so than Derek usually is which is saying something..."

In the past three years, Scott had assumed Derek to be dead a grand total of five times. Stiles had learned better after the second and unless he had checked Derek's pulse with his own fingers and shouted in Derek's ear for at least half an hour, he went on the assumption that Derek was still alive and making Stiles's own life more complicated. _Like he was right now_, Stiles thought grumpily, only panicking half as much as he would have a few years ago.

It was also, Stiles mused, not okay to assume that Derek was in the peak of health unless you had checked that out too. Because Derek was the type of emo, self-flagellating bastard who just kept on going unless his death was actually imminent. Unless he was sure he was dying, Derek would just keep saying he was fine, until he wasn't. At which point he usually collapsed in a parking lot with various fluids leaking from his wounds (and that one time his eyes, nose, and mouth, but Stiles couldn't even really think about that without retching) in front of people who had no idea how the fuck to save his ungrateful ass. Stiles had experienced this enough times that he has almost ceased to worry about the alpha when it happens and instead focuses almost entirely on being annoyed with his recalcitrant behavior.

It was one of Stiles's most useful talents, his ability to focus on anything that was not actually the important thing. He didn't always get a chance to use it these days outside of life-threatening situations, but he got into a lot of those and hadn't once wet his pants, which he personally thought of as a success.

And, as should by now be obvious, that particular skill was getting quite a workout at that particular moment.

Stiles was focusing on Derek's weird health proclivities as opposed to the weird hunter with whom they were locked in a small room and who currently had a weird—but clearly effective if the smoking remains of the bookshelf were anything to go by—weapon pointed at Derek. The whole thing was weird.

"So, did you dig that thing out of the wreckage of a _Star Trek_ prop room?" Stiles asked the man with all of his usual false bravado.

The man had crazy eyes and had already attempted to kill them in increasingly improbable ways about a dozen times. Everyone else was clearly wary of him; it was clear in the way they stood, the glowing eyes and occasionally barely-audible growls. Scott had Allison behind him, though she had her bow strung confidently. Boyd and Isaac were guarding Lydia, and Cora and Stiles stood slightly behind Derek.

Obviously, Stiles was going to make smart-ass comments because when faced with life-threatening situations that he can't actively dispel, that is what Stiles does.

"I mean, really, you have a phaser. Except like, with actual blowing-stuff-up capabilities. Which the props obviously didn't have on _Star Trek_," Stiles continued at lightning speed. "Hey, do you have any other sci-fi weaponry? Oh, tell me you have a light saber, dude, because that would be so epic. Maybe a whole locker of ridiculously advanced weapons—"

"Oh my god!" the hunter burst out. "Do you ever shut up?"

"No," said everyone else in the room simultaneously, including Stiles himself.

The hunter gestured at Derek with the gun. "You. Alpha. Order your little beta to shut his mouth or I shoot him next."

Derek raised his hands, shaking his head in a way that seemed to absolve him of all responsibility for Stiles. "No."

"Then I shoot him!"

"Look, if I could, I would. But I can't. There isn't a force I have encountered that can make him stop with the smart-ass comments. In situations like this, smart-ass comments are what Stiles does," Derek said dryly. Scott was nodding sagely. Stiles's levels of smart-assery were the pretty much only things they agreed on.

"What is your name anyway?" Stiles interrupted compulsively. "We've been in here for like an hour and we don't even know you or why you want to kill us all."

The hunter looked genuinely surprised. "I am Benjamin Agamemnon. I am a member of a very old and powerful hunter family. All of my family is now dead. Except for me. Half turned by werewolves in battle and then killed by their loved ones, the others killed by the turned they hadn't the strength to destroy. Eventually, I was the only one left."

"What a sad story," Allison whispered. Scott nodded in agreement, looking concerned for Allison. Of course, she could sympathize with someone who'd lost most of his family to the werewolf-hunter feud. Stiles gave her a wide-eyed-morphing-into-squinty-eyed look that communicated very clearly 'I understand your family was tragic and all but holy shit this guy is blowing shit up and he wants to blow US up don't look so sorry for him what the fuck.' And Allison shook herself, setting her jaw. Stiles gave her an exasperated 'thank you' expression.

Stiles was an expert in communicating, even wordlessly.

"And the killing us all even though WE weren't the ones who killed your family or anything and actually are pretty decent guys except for Derek who's just grumpy. What is that about?" Stiles was practically radiating irritation. This, in spite of the gun pointing straight at his mouth and the increasingly annoyed scowl on Derek's face.

Something told Stiles that Derek really wanted to protest being labeled as a grump but couldn't without blatantly lying. The thought almost made him want to chuckle.

Agamemnon's face screwed up. "Perhaps none of you yourselves did this. But the Agamemnons and the Hales…we go way back."

Stiles's eyebrows shot up and he looked at Derek, whose face was suddenly even more closed off than usual.

"Now that he mentions it," Cora said, brow furrowed. "I think Daddy did talk about the Agamemnons at some point."

"I remember that too," Derek agreed quietly. "They were coming after us. That was one of the nights we were on lockdown."

Cora nodded fervently. "They didn't look so good after."

Derek stared stonily at the hunter. "My family doesn't kill randomly. They protected the pack. Whatever your hunters did, it was the reason my family went for them."

"It doesn't matter!" Agamemnon roared, spit flying from his mouth. "Your mother was the one who bit my aunt and my brother, beginning the plague. She was the one who began the end! And to avenge the disgrace she brought to my family, I will destroy her bloodline!"

"Good luck with that," Peter snarked from a corner. Stiles jumped—he had forgotten Peter was even there. _Can't you kill him again?_ He thought at Derek, who was ignoring his telepathy powers. "We Hales don't catch the dead very easily."

Agamemnon blinked in surprise. "Who the hell are you?"

Peter stepped forward smoothly. "Peter Hale. Formerly dead. Hi." He waved a hand negligently.

"Formerly…?" Agamemnon repeated dumbly.

"Dead, yes."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Don't worry if you don't get it, he never explained it to us either," Isaac remarked dryly. "Unfortunately, it is true."

"Derek killed him. I saw it," Scott confirmed.

Agamemnon seemed to be contemplating this for several minutes, his lips pursed in thought. Finally he seemed to come to a decision and leveled the weapon at Derek again. "Undead or not, I will destroy the Hales. Starting with the alpha: Derek Hale!"

Stiles stuck his head between Derek and the hunter, causing Derek to stiffen and lean forward, his claws shooting out. "If I could say just one more thing…" Stiles said with a wide grin.

"What?" Agamemnon growled, clicking off the safety.

Stiles swallowed a whimper and kept smiling. "You would save yourself time and effort and possibly death if you just don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't even try. To kill him," Stiles clarified, jerking a thumb at Derek. "It won't work." He took a few steps to the side, giving the hunter a clear shot at Derek. "Derek can't die, man. It's scary. Like, more so than Derek usually is which is saying something."

"I'm pretty sure I can die, Stiles," said Derek in his shut-up-or-I'll-rip-your-throat-out voice.

Stiles shook his head. "Yeah, no. It's been tried. It just doesn't work, bro. You know how many times Scott has thought you were dead since we met you? Like five. And every time, nope, there you were, really freaking bloody and injured, but still kicking and making our lives more difficult. You are like the opposite of Sean Bean, only in real life. He dies in all his movies even when he doesn't really need to. You never die even when you probably should."

Derek looked around as the hunter began pumping the action and the wide muzzle began to glow with energy. None of the pack was moving. In fact, they all looked supremely unconcerned. He raised his eyebrows at them. Isaac shrugged lazily.

"You aren't even going to move," Derek stated expressionlessly.

"What's really the point?" Isaac asked. "We'd just get ourselves mangled for no reason."

"No rea—" Derek started to repeat in disbelief and stopped himself abruptly. "So you are all okay with me getting shot at point-blank range with a weapon previously only seen in science fiction movies. A weapon that reduced a well-constructed bookshelf to smoking rubble."

He looked significantly at Scott, who would usually be negotiating with the enemy and with Derek, fighting to protect them all with his life. It was one of the qualities that Derek truly respected about Scott. Not that he would ever tell Scott that. Ever.

However, Scott only smiled in that slightly apologetic way and gave a little half shrug. "Isaac is right, dude. And Allison likes this shirt."

Allison grinned. "I do."

Derek's eyes rolled dramatically. "Well, since none of these people are going to lift a finger to stop you, I suggest you shoot now, before I make you regret ever coming to Beacon Hills."

The hunter sputtered at this very odd exchange. After he looked around to make sure no one was going to stop him, Agamemnon shrugged and pulled the trigger.

The blast was deafening, twice as powerful as the one that had destroyed the bookshelf. The room shook and Stiles was knocked off his feet. Plaster dust rained from the ceiling and smoke filled the space. Stiles coughed, squinting against the sparks and black smoke in his eyes. The smoke began to clear and Stiles saw Agamemnon slumped against the wall, dazed, the gun knocked from his hands.

And then a figure came striding through the smoke. _Derek_, Stiles thought.

He stepped out of the smoke completely. It was indeed Derek. His shirt had been completely burned away by the explosion and there were rapidly healing burns on his chest and face, but instead of hurt, he looked pissed off. He was wolfed out, his claws long, his fangs making his jaw readjust awkwardly.

A clawed hand flashed out and he hauled Agamemnon up by the front of his shirt.

Stiles gave a half-cough, half-laugh. "I told you. Derek is the reverse Sean Bean. He doesn't die," Stiles said sympathetically. "But you will."

Derek paused to let the man feel the full effects of his alpha-red eyes. And then he growled, full-force, in Agamemnon's face.

Agamemnon went pale. There was a spurt of blood and then his body fell limp and lifeless to the floor, claw marks rending his neck.

Stiles winced. "Oh, god," he moaned to himself, trying to keep his lunch down. "Always with the bloodletting. Why can't we ever sit down and talk out our differences over coffee and those little scones they make at that bakery on Fifth Avenue? Just once…"

Derek was standing over him, his eyebrows lifted. "Nice rescue there, Stiles."

Stiles waved a hand. "You know me. I got your back. It just happens to be a really tank-like, difficult-to-kill back, so I don't always _have_ to have it. But I do. When I think you need it. Which you usually don't. I mean not ever," he amended at the arch look on the alpha's face. "Never ever."

Derek sighed and offered the babbling human a hand up. "Stiles. Shut up."

"Okay." He agreed, letting Derek pull him up quietly.

"It's a miracle," Derek breathed as they hunted for the others.

Stiles elbowed him. "Smart-ass."

Stiles couldn't help but laugh at the 'you-are-not-allowed-to-call-people-that' look on Derek's face. When he started coughing again, Derek pounded him absently on the back, examining his own now-unmarred chest. _I suppose he has a point,_ he thought. Not that he'd ever admit it.


	2. Killing Us Won't Make A Difference

No One On This Show Can Die

AN: This is just another one-shot about how, not only Derek, but no one on this show stays dead. Peter, Cora, Jackson, Boyd, etc. So far only Laura and the sacrifices have stayed dead. It's an incredibly amusing thing and JJ and I cannot stop giggling maniacally over it. So, of course, when I sent her Derek Can't Die, she said, "You should do one where they're in the EXACT SAME PREDICAMENT but Stiles and everyone is all, 'Dude, we won't stay dead, and we WILL come back for you' And the bad guy laughs. Then kills them. Goes home and for the next week is sipping lemonade and watching Law and Order: SVU re-runs. Happy. Serene. Till one night his door is broken down. And there is the pack..."

My brain went "YEEEEES" and this was born, so it's also dedicated to JJ. Thanks for the awesome ideas, Highness!

Killing Us Won't Make A Difference

_What the hell is with this?_ Stiles wondered, more resigned than angry at this point.

For what seemed to be the billionth time, the entire pack (which _finally_ included Danny, why the hell did it take them so long, Danny was like the only person in the universe who didn't know) was stuck in a building with the bad guys. This time, just to shake things up, they were evil druid priests who had been friends with the dude who had sacrificed people a while back. There were four of them and they were armed with everything from swords to semi-automatic weapons. One woman had a cat-o-nine-tails that was soaked in wolf's bane. Scott and Isaac had smoking lashes across their chests. Two particularly nasty cuts were bleeding sluggishly across Isaac's left cheek, making Stiles's blood boil every time he looked at his friend. Of all the wolves (other than Scott) Isaac was the one Stiles was closest to. He had become very loyal to Scott and then, by association, he had come to be very attached to Stiles. Lots of nights when he had nightmares about his father, he would crawl through Stiles's window and curl up around the human.

Isaac and Scott weren't the only ones injured, though. Derek had a gunshot wound in his shoulder, Boyd had multiple wounds from the sword guy, Cora's stomach was run through, Danny's back was gushing blood from a dude with bladed discs like the ones in Underworld (what the hell _even_, where did their enemies find these weapons anyway) and Stiles knew his femur was broken (bone poking through skin meant broken, right?) and he was trying not to faint. Allison and Lydia had a few scratches but nothing too serious. The wolves had been fierce in their protection of their humans. (Peter had wandered off about a week ago, but they dared not hope he was gone for good. He did that sometimes but always came back.)

In terms of skill and general badassness, the pack had the druids. But the druids had laid an ambush and well, things hadn't gone so well after that.

So now they were backed against a wall in an abandoned law firm lobby, facing off against nearly half a dozen druids who wanted to kill them.

Stiles was lolling against the wall, his vision spotted with black. Scott and Derek were crouched in front of him while Isaac talked to him low and fast, trying to keep him awake. "Come on, Stiles, talk to me."

"Did you know that coconut oil has like a hundred different medicinal uses?" Stiles croaked obediently. "You can use it for psoriasis, cold sores, lotion, lube, and sunburns. I've never tried it as lube but for the other stuff it works pretty well. I still have some; I should try that next time."

"Let me know how it works out," Isaac tried to grin.

Stiles's head rolled and Isaac's claws dug into his shoulder. "Stiles!"

"I'm here, I'm here," he managed. He saw Isaac's eyes bleed yellow and Scott's hand land on Isaac's chest in a silent warning to stay calm. "And you know, I really hate these druids. I always liked Celtic myth and druid culture until druids actually showed up and started killing people. Mythology is, like, my favorite subject, especially now that I can compare it with the real-life stuff. I hadn't even heard of most of this stuff until it showed up in our backyard." Stiles kept babbling, comparing the mythoi of different cultures as the wolves faced off with the druids.

The talk trailed off as Stiles blinked to try to clear his eyes. "Impasse," he whispered. "But advantage to the bad guys for once."

The leader of the druids smiled. "Smart one, isn't he?" she sneered. "I'd say he has a lot of potential. It's too bad he has to die."

"No!" growled Derek. "Look, I'm the alpha, I'm the one responsible. Kill me if you have to but let the others go."

She—Adrianna, Stiles thought—smirked. "Sorry, babe, but I know your pack helped take Casey down. And we lost our friend. So as revenge, we will teach you the pain we felt. You will watch your pack die, one at a time. And only once you have felt the breath leave each of their bodies, only once you have sunk into the deepest depths of despair, will we finally give you death."

Stiles snorted. Derek already knew that pain. Hadn't these idiots done their research? Didn't they know about the Hale fire? Didn't they know that Derek knew agony in a way that they never would?

He expected Derek to glare at him even as he chortled, but to his surprise, Stiles heard Derek give a short bark of laughter too. "Kill them?" he repeated. "Okay, but it won't do any good."

And then Stiles understood and he laughed so hard he blacked out momentarily. He came back to Scott's face pressed against Isaac's, they were leaning in so close to him. He felt a flash of guilt for the worry in their eyes before he registered the way his body felt distant and numb. "Whoaaaa," he muttered. "This is so trippy. I'm not on drugs, right? Right, Scott?" A vague feeling of panic welled up until Scott put a hand on his shoulder.

"Umm…" Scott said eloquently. "That depends. Did you take any Adderall today?"

Stiles strained his brain, his face scrunching up. "I think so. After I took a shower this morning but before I ate breakfast, I think I took some. Is that bad? Oh, god, Scott, did I overdose? Please take care of my dad, he will totally freak."

"Stiles," growled a familiar voice, but Scott's mouth didn't move and it wasn't until bright gray eyes appeared in his line of vision that Stiles realized it was Derek who had spoken. "You didn't overdose. You're going to be fine. You'll feel better when we get you out of here."

Stiles looked up into Derek's serious—as always—face and calmed somewhat. Instead of panic, he felt a cold hand of fear wrap around his heart. "Then get me out of here. Derek, please. I don't like it," he whispered.

Derek's brow furrowed. "I know," was all he said. Stiles felt a hand on his head briefly and then Derek disappeared.

"Scott?" Stiles asked.

"Yeah, buddy. Hey, why don't you tell me every random fact you can think of?"

Stiles grinned, and with every nugget of information, he felt a little more like himself. "Male seahorses are the ones who carry the babies and they have little pouches like kangaroos. Some animals can switch genders when most of their population is decimated and they need more males. That's what happened in _Jurassic Park_."  
"I've never seen it," Scott said.

Stiles squinted at him. "I can see that you need remedial movie education. Class is every Friday night and all day Saturday. Attendance is mandatory."

"I'll be there," Scott promised, smiling.

"How do you feel?" Isaac interrupted anxiously.

Stiles attempted to shrug. "I've definitely been better. But I think I've also been worse. I can't remember when, but I'm sure there was a time. Oh, yeah, I remember. That time in sixth grade, remember, Scott? When I took like nine Adderall and was unconscious for two days?" Stiles registered the look of surprise and horror on Isaac's face, and Scott flinched with the memory. "Oh, and when Mom died. That was the worst. I couldn't breathe. I can breathe now, right, Scott?"

"Yeah, Stiles. You can breathe. In, and out."

Stiles obeyed and smiled. "Good. I like breathing, it would be bad if I couldn't, I think. I like pie too. My favorite kind is blueberry, and Scott's is cherry. Derek likes peach and Isaac likes chocolate cream and Boyd likes strawberry," he rattled off.

He lapsed into silence and for the first time registered the sounds of Derek and Adrianna talking. He looked up at the priestess. "—Going to make you suffer," she was hissing manically. Her hand was caressing her Beretta with long green nails. "I think I'll kill you slowly, with wolf's bane poured down your throat until you choke up your own stomach. Your pack…I think I'll start with the girls. I'll have Aidan flay their faces with her whip. Your werewolves I'll have to work harder on. I'm sure that Brendan can think of something though," she gestured to the guy with the sword. "He's very _creative_." Brendan chuckled darkly.

"And as for that one," she continued, pointing to Stiles. "I might not have to do anything at all to him. He's half dead already."

Stiles grinned brightly. "You don't pay attention, do you, lady?"

Adrianna cocked her head. "Your pet talks too much."

"If Stiles were my pet, he'd listen to me more," Derek said dryly with an eyebrow raised. "And yeah, he does. Good luck getting him to shut up."

"All right…Stiles, was it?" she said, addressing someone other than Derek for the first time. "Why do you say that I don't pay attention?" Her tone was that of someone indulging a slow child.

Stiles waved a hand haphazardly, nearly hitting Isaac in the head. "Derek already told you that killing us won't do any good."

Adrianna laughed. "What do you mean?"

"Did I stutter or are you stupid?" Stiles asked frankly. "You can kill us if you want to but it won't do you any good. We'll just come back and we'll come for you. We'll keep coming after you until you're all dead and we know you can't hurt anyone else. We don't let people like you go."

"I'm sorry?" Adrianna giggled. "You'll—come back? As in from the dead?"

He shrugged. "Or something. Whatever it takes. We don't die well. So many have tried and it never seems to take. So go ahead and try to kill us all if it'll make you feel better. But I'm telling you, killing us won't make a difference."

"Wow, you are really losing blood, aren't you?" she asked in mock-concern. She examined her nails and then spoke over her shoulder. "I'm getting bored. Entertain me and…make it bloody," she added with a feral grin.

Her three flunkies laughed and Brendan rumbled, "With pleasure."

The wolves tried to fight back but with their injuries and being hindered by having to protect the humans, they were sorely outmatched.

Boyd went down first, Aidan's whip striking his skin relentlessly, over and over until there was a pool of blood around his feet and his chest looked more like raw meat than human skin. He tried to lash out at her, but every time he moved forward the whip would drive him back again. He fought until his yellow eyes rolled up in his head and he crumpled to the ground, claws still reaching out.

Isaac was next. The other man—with the discs—was simpler in his mode of attack. He pointed his gun and pulled the trigger over and over until Isaac stopped struggling forward and fell face first onto the tile floor, over half a dozen holes in his torso. He twitched feebly, still trying to crawl toward his opponent.

That was when Aidan reached Stiles. Her whip snaked out and wrapped around Stiles's chest and side, leaving deep rents in his tender human skin. She only hit him once before Scott's claws tore her throat out.

The gunman died when he shot Danny in the thigh and turned his gun on Lydia. Cora, who had become very close to Lydia, leaped onto the man's back and stabbed her claws deep into his chest. From the amount of blood that gushed forth when she ripped them out, she had punctured his heart.

He fell to his knees and rolled over, managing to fire another shot directly into Cora's chest. She collapsed, unmoving.

Scott leaped into the fray with Brendan. But for every swipe of his claws, he earned a deep slice from the sword. The battle went on, and Scott was holding his ground, matching Brendan blow for blow. But Scott was already injured and hadn't had enough time to heal from the wolf's bane whip before, and the sword was clearly imbued with the deadly plant as well. Slowly, Scott was being driven back.

And Derek, of course, had hurdled toward Adrianna with a roar. She had a gun too, but Derek was fast. Even with the wound he had already sustained, he was able to dodge most of her shots. She was on her guard though, and Derek couldn't earn more than a few glancing hits.

Stiles glanced back at his best friend and his stomach plummeted. Scott was on the ground, his claws out, trying to scramble away from Brendan. Brendan grinned and raised his sword.

"No!" Stiles yelled. Scott's eyes snapped toward him and he reached out, as though trying to reassure his friend.

Brendan struck. His sword drove through Scott's chest, and Scott's back arched as spasms ran through him, and then he fell limp, unconscious.

"NO!" Allison's cry echoed in perfect unison with Stiles's.

Brendan turned on Allison before she could blink. He struck her on the head with the hilt and she slumped. Lydia crawled over to Stiles and grabbed his hand in a death grip.

They watched as Adrianna fired her gun and Derek seized up. He seemed to fall back in slow motion, bouncing slightly as he hit the ground and laying spread-eagled, utterly still.

"No," Lydia whispered in shock. Stiles held her hand so hard he thought her bones would break. They were the only two in the pack still awake. Lydia had no weapon and Stiles knew he couldn't do anything. He wrapped his arms around her, trying to shield her with his body. His cuts pulled and began to bleed more heavily. He twisted to shelter her and his leg dragged, sending unbearable pain shooting through him.

_Hold on, Lydia_, was his last thought before blackness swallowed him.

Brendan was pacing agitatedly, swinging his sword from his loose wrist. Adrianna, however, was sitting perfectly composed on the sofa, watching _Law and Order_.

"Oh, Brendan, sit down. You're making me nervous," she said exasperatedly.

Brendan obeyed, laying his sword across his lap, but his scowl didn't soften. "I don't like it."

Adrianna sighed. "It has been almost a week. I told you: they're dead."

"I just got a bad feeling about them, Adrianna."

"You're just feeling paranoid because they killed Aidan and Todd." She laid a hand on his arm. "I'm sad too. I miss them so much. My brother…Todd was young. But they knew the risks. You can't blame yourself."

He lowered his eyes and his shoulders slumped. "I know." He covered her hand with his own and gave her a smile. And then he tensed. "Did you hear that?"

"I didn't hear anything, Brendan."

Then came an even louder creak and she sat up.

"You heard that too, right?" Brendan breathed.

She nodded slowly.

"Was this a private party?" asked a cool voice. "Mind if we gate-crash?"

Their heads snapped around and their blood ran cold.

Standing in the doorway was the Hale pack. Cora and Boyd had their arms crossed, flanking Isaac, who still had cuts on his face and looked particularly menacing. Lydia, Danny and Allison stood together, Allison at the front with her bow trained steadily on Adrianna. And Scott stood crouched, his claws extended and his eyes glowing, beside Derek. Derek was composed, with an arrogant smirk on his face. And Stiles…Stiles was grinning madly from his place on Derek's back. Derek hitched him higher, mindful of the full cast that made Stiles's leg stick out awkwardly.

"We tried to tell you," Derek said calmly.

"Killing us won't make a difference," Stiles finished. "And now you've pissed us off."

The wolves growled as one and the druids went pale. Derek cocked his head and looked up at Stiles with an eyebrow lifted. Stiles's grin widened. "Get 'em," he said.

The pack charged.


End file.
